Battles Fought For You
by RomioneLovex0x
Summary: So a 'mundane' girl gets the privilege of meeting shadowhunters. Or maybe it's the shadowhunters who have the privilege... A story about everybody's battles, internal and external, in which we find out that most of our battles aren't fought for selfish reasons after all.
1. Daggers

**Takes place in the Foyer area of Clary's building. City of Bones. If Alec and Isabelle had come with Jace and Clary for her 'one last look at home' and had met droves of forsaken rather than just one. **

The forsaken comes at me out of nowhere. I thought I was far enough away from the crowd of them that the three "shadowhunters" are in the thick of, but I guess not. Wielding a mace, the grotesque thing lifts his arm, and I watch, too shocked to move, as he moves to bring his arm down.

And then I'm on the ground, having been knocked down, being shielded (if not crushed) by a handsome boy with an angular face and bright, honey-colored eyes. I faintly hear the sound of his friend, the dark haired one, slaughter the forsaken. I look up at the boy that is propped up on his elbows above me. His golden hair falls messily into his eyes as he looks at me. Jace. He must have thrown himself at me while his friend took care of the danger. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Fine," I respond, and am surprised by the breathlessness in my voice. He rolls to the side and stands up, holding out his hand to help me up. Normally I wouldn't accept such help from people. I can stand up on my own. I'm not a child. But he _did_ just save my life. The least I could do is take his hand. Trying to look as grateful as I can, I slip my hand into his and allow him to pull me up easily as if I was indeed a child. I subconsciously brush strands of fiery hair out of my eyes.

I don't know what I expected him to look like when I stood up next to him, but I never expected the anger I see in his eyes. "We told you to _stay off to the side, Mundie!_" he says, and I can hear the frustration in his voice.

"I _was_ off to the side! That one," I point to the forsaken on the ground at our feet (the boy who killed it, Alec, is back in the mob of forsaken with his sister) "broke away and came after me. It wasn't like I went _looking_ for it!" I can tell my voice is an octave higher than it usually is and wonder why I feel like I must be so defensive to this boy.

He rolls his eyes and then turns to look to his left, and then his right, as if he is looking for a place to go. He then takes me by the arm, none too gently, and guides me towards the door. We stop just before we get to it. He is not trying to get me to leave. I don't think I am supposed to. His back is to the throng of forsaken, and I wonder if he feels uneasy about it. If he does, he doesn't look like it. Leaning over me (I am much shorter than him) he pulls something out of his black jacket. A medium sized dagger. When he holds it out to me, I look at him like he's crazy. Because I'm beginning to believe he is.

"Take it."

"Umm, no thank you."

"Just take it," he says wearily. "There's no guarantee that you will have to use it if you stay off to the side. It's just in case."

I guess he can see that I'm still hesitant to take it. He reaches down and grabs my hand, pulling it toward him, and sets the dagger in it, closing my fingers around the hilt. It feels cold and surprisingly heavy in my hand. "Please, just stay over here and try not to get yourself hurt," he says sternly. I am taken aback by the urgency that he has allowed to creep into his voice. But then I think - he doesn't want me to get hurt because I'm supposed to be his _responsibility_ today and he will probably get in trouble if he lets the little mundie get herself killed. He whirls around and sprints back into the crowd to fight.

A forsaken breaks out of the crowd once again and comes after me. I see it coming and resolve to show the shadowhunters that I'm not just some little girl. Hoping that at least one of them is watching, I bring the dagger back and fling it at the thing before it can even lift its axe. I put everything I had into that throw, and, thanks to some miracle, it strikes home, right in the forsaken's chest. I look up just in time to see the blonde-haired boy turn his smirking face from me to the creatures surrounding him. I should be proud of myself. After all, I just killed a forsaken. Not many "mundanes" can say the same. Instead I feel anger. Anger at the forsaken for trying to kill me. Anger at myself for wanting approval from the shadowhunters who, for the most part, have been nothing but rude to me ever since I met them. And most of all, anger at Jace. At that smirk of his. It wasn't a smirk of respect or anything. It wasn't a "wow, that little girl just murdered that thing". It was a "wow, look what I created" sort of thing. He thinks it's _his_ doing that I managed to kill the thing and not get hurt. Just because _he_ gave me the dagger.

Fuming, I decide I must continue fighting and show the arrogant boy that I am doing this on my own. I don't need his help. No matter how much he may pride himself in thinking I do. I am going to wipe that smirk clear off of his face. I charge toward the horde of forsaken.

I'm not stupid enough to actually go into the middle of the crowd, so I settle for just trying to get the ones on the outside. I can't manage to catch a glimpse of the shadowhunters, but I can tell from the slicing and grunting and groaning I hear that they are in the midst of the forsaken, tearing them to bits. _How hard can it be?_ I think. _I mean, I know they must've had training or something, but I'm just dealing with the ones on the outside. It can't be _that _difficult. _

My thoughts quickly change not even a minute after I began slashing at the forsaken that make up the outskirts of the crowd. Because suddenly I am not on the outside of the crowd anymore. Now I am surrounded on all sides by forsaken. I scream as I, on instinct, begin lashing out in all directions with my dagger. I cry out as I feel a terrible pain on my back, just under my shoulder blade. Even though it's never happened to me before, I know instantly that I have just been sliced with a knife. It's not a fatal injury, and it's not _that_ deep, but it still hurts.

The pain stops me for a fraction of a second, but that is long enough for the forsaken who were delayed just slightly by my dagger-slashing to close in on me. And suddenly there is pain everywhere. I am being hit by something hard in the back, cut in the face with what feels like scissors, sliced with knives. My clothes are being torn, my feet are being stomped on, and I can think of nothing to do but call out. "JACE!" I shriek at the top of my lungs, and the pain in my voice seems to radiate throughout the foyer.


	2. Battle Scars

In the midst of the battle, I hear my voice being shrieked into the air in a high-pitched voice laced all throughout with agony. Somehow I recognize it immediately, thought I hardly know her. The mundie. Clary.

A rush of adrenaline comes with the fierce desire to protect the small girl, and I manage to slaughter all the forsaken surrounding me in two quick movements. As I look in the direction that the scream came from, I see through the thinning crowd of forsaken (most of them have been killed already and there aren't too many left) a group of them, all gathered around something, seemingly beating it mercilessly. I also see Alec and Izzy, who are closer, trying to force their way through to save the girl. I sprint towards them and kill the forsaken that stand in my way of Clary, who is still surrounded on three sides, still being beaten. With Alec and Izzy's help, I manage to kill off the rest of the forsaken while the small redhead stands in shock. I've never seen someone look so bloody and destroyed, and yet still alive. She looks like she should be dead.

Once we're sure the forsaken are taken care of, we all turn to the girl, who is standing a few feet from me and a little to my right. I don't even see the forsaken that comes running past me towards her. I do, however, see that she doesn't react in time as the thing pulls a knife, and drives it into her stomach. I don't see Izzy kill the forsaken, but I hear the slice as her whip tightens around its throat and pops its head off. My eyes are focused on Clary. Time seems to slow down. Her wide green eyes travel down to her stomach, and my gold ones follow. I see a dark stain spreading on her white shirt from the small knife that sticks out of her. I see shaking hands somehow manage to remove it and drop it onto the ground. I look back up at her face just as she looks up, and we make eye contact. Her open mouth seems to pour blood as she takes a shuddering breath—and falls forward.

I am there before she hits the ground, catching her and holding her against me. I vaguely hear Alec and Izzy calling my name as I run to the stairs and lay her down on the second step up. I kneel down and quickly take out my stele. I didn't hear my adoptive siblings come up behind me but I feel Izzy's hand on my shoulder. I am conscious of how much my hand shakes as I reach out to _iratze _Clary. She looks so small and defeated as she lays there, blood pooling underneath her, leaking from her mouth, staining everything red.

"Jace," Alec says. He puts his hand over mine on the stele and takes it from me. He peels her shirt up. It seems to cling to her skin, glued down by her blood. I watch as Alec sets the stele to Clary's stomach, tracing the lines of the rune I know so well just above her wound. The injury is slightly above her belly button, but off to the side a little bit. It looks like a dark, reddish-black hole. A stark contrast to the milky white skin of her stomach.

Alec slips the stele back into my pocket, but I don't pay much attention. I keep my eyes on the fiery-haired girl lying in front of me. I watch her intently, ignoring Isabelle and Alec's attempts to bring me back to them. I barely hear them anyway. It seems like ages that I've been watching the girl before I see her eyelids flicker. A wave of relief washes over me. Soon enough, I see her wide green eyes staring back into mine. I resist the urge to put my arms around her as I remember seeing the light leaving those eyes just moments ago.

"Clary," I breathe out, in a breath I wasn't aware I was holding.

She opens her mouth as if to say something, and winces, clutching her stomach. "Shh," I whisper, surprising myself with the gentleness in my voice. I'm almost positive I've never spoken to anyone like this before. But I can't seem to help it at the moment, so I just pretend like I am speaking like this on purpose. Maybe I am.

She relaxes back on the step, looking up at me with huge, watery eyes. I can tell she is ready to cling to every word I say. I have a high pain threshold, so I truly can't imagine how much pain she must be in right now. She looks exhausted. Though she is a shadowhunter and replaces blood at a faster rate than normal humans, she still lost quite a bit. More than I've ever seen anyone lose at one time. Because it wasn't just the stab wound from the one forsaken. It was the beating she took from a whole crowd of them. In my mind's eye I see again the cluster of once-human things. _There was a whole group of them, gathered around her, beating her senseless._

I feel something I've never felt before in the pit of my stomach. It spreads to my throat and remains there in the form of a large lump. It's behind my eyes too, causing them to burn.

I avert my eyes from hers, looking down to her stomach to check its progress. It's still quite bloody, but it looks better than before. Blood is pouring from the wound no more. And it doesn't look like a black hole. I use my sleeve to wipe away the blood that hasn't yet dried, taking care not to make her hurt any more than she currently is. When I'm finished and I look back at her, she has her eyes closed. I would say she looked almost content, if it weren't for the knife slashes and blood that flaw her pretty little face. Battle scars.

"Jace," I hear Alec behind me. I hear his phone snap shut. "Jace."

Managing to tear my eyes away from Clary, I reluctantly turn toward him. He looks almost sick. I wonder why. He hasn't been hurt at all. At least not visibly. And I don't imagine he's too worried about Clary. He doesn't seem to like her all that much. Actually, he seems to _really _not like her for some reason. I push down the rush of anger I feel and try to focus on what he's saying.

"We need to get her cleaned up. The conclave is coming to investigate the place. That was the largest group of forsaken to have ever been seen in one place in New York. Hodge asked if the mundane was OK. He said the Clave would be very angry with us if we got the mundane hurt, so I told him she was OK for the most part—"

I cut him off, "_'OK for the most part_'? She was just about dead! I don't care that Hodge would've been mad, have you _seen_ her!? She's been practically torn to pieces, how's she supposed to pretend that she's sustained merely a few minor injuries when-?"

I am cut off by a noise behind me. Clary. I turn around. She speaks. "I'll do it," she says weakly. And it's obvious she has no idea how brave she is.

**-0o-**

Alec and Izzy leave us to get some wet washcloths and basically anything else that may be of use from Clary's neighbor, Madame Dorothea. I watch Clary like a hawk, as if I'm afraid that anything could come along at any moment and worsen her pain. She looks like a porcelain doll, with her small stature and pale skin. _A porcelain doll that's been harshly mistreated_ I think as my eyes are drawn to the cuts that stand out all over her face.

After being gone merely three minutes at the most, Alec and Izzy return, followed by Madame Dorothea, who is carrying a briefcase-looking something that I'm guessing is full of medical supplies. She sits down next to me, so she is looking straight down at Clary's face. She opens the kit and sure enough, it harbors countless medications, ointments, bandages, and anything else you could think of to treat a sick or injured person. She takes out a cylindrical container and unscrews the lid. It smells pleasant, like the air outside just after it rains. She dips a stubby finger into the petroleum-looking substance and begins lightly applying it to Clary's face. She doesn't even flinch. I think she's asleep. She looks quite peaceful.

As Madame Dorothea rubs the fragrant medicine on Clary's face, the marks seem to instantly vanish, as if by magic. "Wow," I say, "What is that stuff?"

"Nothing of your concern," she says casually, still rubbing the stuff onto Clary's face.

"But-"

Before I can finish my sentence, there is a noise outside. The Conclave is here. Madame Dorothea jumps at the sound of them. She stops what she's doing and quickly begins packing up her supplies. There are still scratches all over Clary's face. She healed the absolute worst of them, but not all of them. Not even _close_ to all of them.

"I'm not in good standing with the Clave and I'd prefer not to run into them," she mumbles before taking off and slamming the door of her apartment.

Clary opens her eyes.

"How's your face feel?" I ask.

"I've been better," she says with a small smile.

I smile too, enjoying the fact that she's not acting as if sustaining injuries such as this is the end of the world. Most girls, especially those who have grown up in the mundane world, who do not _know_ pain, would think it really was.

Alec and Isabelle greet the Conclave as they burst through the door and pour in, weapons at the ready.

"Quick, they can't see that you're too hurt," I say, urgently.

"Ok, sorry for being in pain," she says, edgily, as she sits up and bites her bottom lip to keep from crying out. I feel a twinge of guilt, but I can't think about that now. If they see that we let Clary get hurt this bad, they will take her away from us and lock her up somewhere "safe" where we might never see her again. Not to mention we'll be in HUGE trouble. I don't think they would go so far as to exile us from the Clave, but bringing mundanes (or at least someone _they_ believe to be mundane) out on missions is very much illegal. But that detail seems hardly important now.

I hold out a hand to help her stand up. She gives me the same look she gave me earlier when I offered the same help to her, but this time I figure out what the look means. The hesitance that is barely visible in the bright eyes. Pride. She reminds me a little of myself. _This_ hurt and yet still almost too proud to accept so much as a hand up.

"Take it, it's not offered often enough to be refused," A flicker of annoyance flits across her face, and then she makes eye contact with me. I suddenly feel quite exposed. I feel like she can read me. She seems to see this, and reaches out her hand, slipping it into mine. It feels small and cold. Yet somehow, even given the current situation, it feels right.


	3. Acts of Defiance

Alec and I lead the Conclave over toward Jace and Clary. Obviously she was too weak to stand on her own. He has his arm slid under hers, wrapping around her small waist, and her pale, thin arm is draped over his shoulder. Her clothes are torn and bloody. He has a bit of her blood on him as well. Her face is still covered in scratches. So much for trying to cover up her condition.

"We're in deep trouble, Iz," Alec whispers to me. I nod my head in agreement as the Conclave gasps and groans and reacts overdramatically behind me. Clary took quite a beating, that much is obvious. I can't help but marvel at her strength. For a girl so recently thrown into such a dangerous world, she has survived pretty well. However, I can't help but think that she might not be in any stable condition at all if Jace weren't nursing an obvious soft-spot for her. I smile a little to myself. Maybe he'll stop messing around with girls now.

I turn around as I hear raised voices, and see the leader of the Conclave yelling, marching straight towards me—and then he walks right past me towards Jace.

"—this girl is quite young and very small, what were you _thinking _bringing her into a house full of forsaken like that, she could've died, she's just a simple mundane, is she not, I-"

"She's not," Jace says. He reaches over with the hand that is not supporting Clary and raises her shirt just a little to show the iratze Alec drew just next to her belly button. Mundanes can't withstand the runes. Therefore she is not a mundane.

My small gasp of surprise mingles with those of the Conclave, making it seem much louder than it was. I would say I'm just as shocked as they are, but I feel like some part of me knew this about her already. I knew she wasn't an ordinary girl, anyway.

"Still, you should not have brought her in here with you, you are all in _huge_ trouble, do you know that? I ought to-"

"But, sir," I hear Clary speak softly, and I am sure that's probably as loud as her aching body will let her. "They told me to stay outside."

I see Jace tense up a little at the lie. Luckily nobody else noticed.

"I just wanted to see what was going on in here. I was curious, so I came in and- and it sort of all went downhill from there. Don't punish them, they would've protected me had they known I had come in," her voice doesn't waver throughout the whole speech. In fact, she looks defiantly up at the intimidating leader of the Conclave as if challenging him to not believe her, despite her small, raspy, pain-filled voice.

I see my own surprise mirrored in Jace's expression as he looks down at the girl next to him. I want to tell him to stop looking at her like that, he'll give us away, but somehow I can't bring myself to do that. There's respect in his gaze as he looks at the small girl he is supporting, and I can't ask Jace to stop respecting a girl. It happens so rarely.

Luckily everyone is too busy staring at Clary to notice Jace. It is quite a site, after all. A small redhead, beaten and bloody, standing defiantly up to a huge man that must be at least a foot taller than her and have at least a good 150 pound advantage.

"I think I really like this girl," I say to my brother. He snorts. He has yet to take a liking to her. I wonder if it's because of Ja-

_NO! I cannot allow myself to think like that. My brother is normal and happy the way he is, and he will NOT be shunned by the clave. Absolutely not. There is nothing even remotely… different… about him, so don't even _think_ like that, Isabelle Lightwood._

I shake my head so as to clear it, and tune back in to what the leader of the Conclave is saying. "Very well then, if you _insist_ it was your own stupidity that got you bludgeoned, who I am I to argue? Boy," he turns to Jace, "take her to the infirmary at the Institute and get someone to fix her up as best they can," he turns around, speaking to the shadowhunters that stand behind my brother and me. "Let's search the building."

And with that, the Conclave takes off in a rush of black leather and glowing weapons. I look at Jace, who seems to be the only thing supporting Clary. The _only_ thing. Meaning her legs seem to be incapable of doing so. Rather than Alec's and Madame Dorothea's ministrations helping Clary, she seems to be getting progressively worse and worse. She's looking a little green. Jace is obviously becoming mindful of her worsening condition. His eyes widen as her legs give out, little by little, and she slowly lowers to the ground. He turns and wraps his other arm around her to hold her up. Her eyelids are drooping slowly. Finally they flutter shut and her feet leave the ground as she goes limp in his arms.

**-0o-**

Standing beside my sister, I watch as the mundane girl's eyelids start to droop. More and more until they finally snap shut, and I watch Jace wrap both arms around her as her consciousness slips away. Finally, she gives up all attempts at overcoming the weariness that has so obviously taken over her body and succumbs to it, fainting into Jace. Looking scared and confused, I watch as he swings the small girl up into his arms and starts towards us quickly.

"Something's wrong."

"Really, well we thought everything was just _peachy_!" Isabelle says, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she indicates the girl lying in Jace's arms.

"Let's get her back to the Institute, _now_. I want to know what's wrong."

"Let's go," I say, walking over to the door and pushing it open. I know I'm misleading them; trying to appear as if I'm walking away from them for the sole purpose of being helpful, but I have an ulterior motive. I cannot stand to see the way he looks right now, Jace. He's white as a sheet and I noticed that the hands that hold Clary just under the bend of her knee and on the nape of her neck have a slight tremor to them. I know what he's starting to feel. I know because I've felt it for about seven years now. And I know what it does to people. And I don't _want_ to know what it'll do to me if I find out that what I suspect is true. If Jace really is falling in l-

No. I can't. I can't think like that. I _won't_ think like that. I push open the door, walk out, and stand holding it while Jace sprints past me and rockets down the road. I see a streak of fiery orange hair round the corner a few feet away, and then he is gone.

**-0o-**

I stand in the infirmary while Hodge examines Clary. Izzy sits on the edge of a bed and Jace kneels by Hodge, close to the girl's pale pace as Hodge examines it.

"Well?" Jace asks Hodge anxiously as he pulls away and looks thoughtful. I turn around, pretending to look out the window. I know I'm being selfish. I should be worried about Jace because he is worrying. Isn't that what… caring for someone… is all about? Instead I just feel sickened. I also feel a burning anger for the girl in the hospital bed.

"I'm sorry, Jace, but I'm quite baffled."

I hear anger in Jace's voice as he responds, "Well, do something other than stare at her for minutes on end!" _Why, that's what you do._ I think cruelly, but I would never say it. "You need to run some tests, bring in some specialists, _whatever_! Just find out what's wrong and fix it!"

"It's not quite that simple, Jace, It-"

"No, _you're_ just no willing to try hard enough. I, however, am."

I turn around as I hear a shuffling noise and see Jace getting to his feet. He walks defiantly over to the door and puts his hand on the handle.

"Where are you going, Jace?" Izzy asks.

"To do whatever I can to find out what this thing is and what is wrong with Clary. Or don't you want to find out?"

Hodge speaks before Izzy can open her mouth again, "I had no idea you were quite so passionate about this."

I swallow a lump in my throat. Jace turns toward Hodge, walking straight up to him until they are almost nose to nose. "You obviously don't know me, then," he says quietly. Then he raises his voice slightly, "If you did know me, you'd know that I am willing to do anything necessary to get what I want. And right now, I set things right. To find out what is bloody going on around here! _To fix her!_" He throws his arm out and points to Clary, who has been lying still and silent ever since she passed out. The vulnerability in his voice and the look in his eyes makes me want to do something drastic. Anything. Most of all, though, I want to get out of this room. To never be in the same room as Jace and Clary again.

Jace turns and walks out of the room purposefully. I see Isabelle and Hodge turn toward me, as if they expect me to do something about this. I turn away, feeling exposed, as though they can see what I'm feeling inside. As though it's written all over my face, which I'm sure by now is red with suppressed emotion.

When I hear footsteps coming toward me, I turn and Izzy stops, but I walk straight past her, and then Hodge, out of the room.


End file.
